


If Over-Compressed Jpegs Teach Us Anything, It's That There's No Such Thing as an Acceptable Loss

by IntelligentAirhead



Category: Counter/weight, Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Don't worry other characters are there too they just don't talk much, Gen, Post-September Incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 17:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntelligentAirhead/pseuds/IntelligentAirhead
Summary: It takes time to travel back to Counterweight from September, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes time is needed to process events. However, that point is moot when everyone involved refuses to admit that they need to recover from anything in the first place.Or: Cass has designated themself as unofficial supervisor for everyone’s internalized emotional crises, and anyone who doesn’t like it can just suck it up.





	If Over-Compressed Jpegs Teach Us Anything, It's That There's No Such Thing as an Acceptable Loss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chordialcompeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chordialcompeer/gifts).



> This takes place right after the September Incident, so spoilers up through that.

The Kingdom Come is too old to be quiet. The ship had made a sound of protest before Cass had even set foot in it for the first time, as if it was anticipating the extra weight of passengers and wasn’t fond of the idea. Then, as soon as they’d walked in, it was filled with chatter, and beeping, and emergency chimes.

The Kingdom Come isn’t meant to be quiet, but well, that’s what space _does_. It chokes out the sound before it can travel, starved of air, unable to move through the vast absence of everything.

Should have stopped being a surprise by now. Absence always kills sound.

The evidence is plentiful. On the way to September, Aria’s music had rung through the halls. Orth had started arguments with Mako that began with chores and ended with lambasting Orth’s taste in anime. After the first leg of the journey, after AuDy had woken up, they’d—

Cass stops themself. There’s nothing to be gained from that train of thought. The conclusion’s  been reached: quiet is synonymous with absence. As clear a message as it was the day Sokrates left, the day Euanthe got sick, the day Cass boarded a ship with the Megalophile and didn’t look—

Alright, what did their shitty brain not get about that train of thought doing absolutely nothing for them? Lesson learnt! End of sentence. Stamp that envelope and send it off to the archives; there’s nothing more it can do here.

Besides, it isn’t as if there’s not other shit to mull over. Sure, they _could_ confront the grief throbbing like an open wound, or, on the other, less mortally wounded hand, they could examine the new set of constructed memories that happen to be living in their head. And honestly? Cass will take the misplaced twinge of manufactured nostalgia over the searing ache of loss any day.

As a doctor, they should know better than to leave a wound untreated, but the thing is that they really couldn’t give less of a shit. No point stitching up a wound that opens right back up every time it starts to heal. Better to redirect resources somewhere they’ll actually make an impact.

Namely, at the two other people sharing the ancient couch with them, despite the fact that it’s meant to hold one other person, _maximum_ , at a time. Or three children.

Except that would be ridiculous; the _Kingdom Come_ used to be a flagship in a war. No kids on warships. Preferably.

Although... the couch could have been brought on later? In case Orth needed it in order to sit in the middle of a darkened ship, thinking about the past. Which sounded just sad and contrived enough to be possible. The couch could have originally belonged to children, in that case. Or an old government building’s lobby, which was almost the same—

“—erweight to Cass? Hello? Anyone home?” Aria makes a gesture that could be the second cousin of jazzhands, the most intrusive she gets when it comes to getting Cass’s attention.

“Yeah, sorry,” Cass says. “No, I’m paying attention. Promise.”

“Uh huh,” Aria says. “So, the thing I just said, which you obviously remember because you definitely _weren’t_ zoning out so hard that they haven’t even come up with a name for the quadrant you were exploring, was ‘hey, Cass, do you ‘remember’ helping me sneak up to the roof of Whitestar?’”

Sure enough, the memory is there, backed and embellished by snippets of other memories, of classmates that Cass never had commenting on it, of an Aria-that-never-was thanking them, face red as she snuck back out with a girl whose hair might have been blue, or green, or neither, actually _because it never happened!_

“Yeah,” Cass admitted, frowning. “It’s— Yeah, I’m still not a fan of how real they feel.”

“I don’t know,” Aria said, cocking her head. “For me, it’s kind of like… Okay, so you know how you feel about a really familiar story? Like you’ve read it or watched it a billion times, and you know it by heart, and yeah, you didn’t live it, but you might as well have? That’s how it feels to me. Like I got this glimpse into a story about a character who happens to look and act like me, and I remember it really well.”

Maxine looks at her, arching an eyebrow. “You’re surprisingly well-adjusted for…” She trails off, making a gesture that could be referring to Aria’s status as a former pop idol who was exploited by an interplanetary corporation, the fact that she’s a criminal as a day job and a revolutionary on the side, or, most likely of all, the September Incident as a whole.

Apoanta knows that Cass is going to need at least four months to compartmentalize that shit in its entirety, but Aria… she’s always been more suited to these kinds of things. No one else could get shot point blank, strike a pose, and ask the person trying to kill her out on a date. She takes things as they come and confronts them from an angle that doesn’t even exist for most people. It’s one of her most admirable qualities.

Cass doesn’t have any doubt that if it came to it, Aria would be the one able to make the hard calls.  They aren’t sure that they could do the same.

Aria laughs. “Listen, it takes constant maintenance, but so does the Regent’s Brilliance, half of my outfits, and our awful, wonderful, home-sweet-spaceship, so, y’know, it’s whatever.”

Maxine makes an amused sound that’s more of a quiet exhale than a full-blown laugh. “Unfortunately it’s, uh, a bit late for that for me. That ship sailed around maybe, what, year eight of my reality being a construct? Probably before then.” And what can anyone say to that?

Everything’s quiet for a moment as Maxine looks at the ceiling, lost in thought. Then, she winces. “It’s probably worse for your other friend, though, huh?”

Cass tries to shoot Aria a subtle but meaningful look, but Maxine had long since cut that off at the pass literally _and_ figuratively by sitting between them.

Luckily, Aria’s used to picking up the slack in uncomfortable social situations and talking about feelings, and the look turns out to be unnecessary. “We aren’t _quite_ sure, exactly, how Mako’s handling it, really,” Aria enunciates, each word hedged with the care and caution of expensive topiary. “We want to be there for him, of course, but, we also want to be… um,” she pauses, her eyebrows drawing together. “Considerate? I mean, it’s his entire life. That’s gotta be a lot to process.”

Cass can’t imagine it. Sure, they have a new set of memories alongside their real ones, but… they have real ones. They can compare and contrast. Mako’s entire childhood, everything he knew up until he met the Chime could have been faked.

The fact that Mako slipped back into everything so easily, that he’d had told Aria he had a _test_ , as if everything was the same? That it was so easy to edit Aria in, to overwrite years of false memories, just like that? It was fucked. It was beyond fucked.

But how are they meant to broach a topic like that? Hey, sorry about that whole memory business; must really suck for you. Hope this hasn’t irreparably damaged your ability to trust your own perceptions! Remember, we love and support you.

That’d fly about as well as the Kingdom Come did when the rear left engine failed.

“I mean, of course we want him to know we love and support him,” Aria says, which, cool, Cass knows shit about shit, and their barebones counselling training is worth nothing. When will death come for them.

The sound of metal shrieking against metal fills the air, and Cass almost lurches into a defensive position because they were _joking_ , and death can wait until they’re on solid ground, thanks, when their friends aren’t in the line of fire; however, they stop themself when they recognize the sound of one of the Kingdom Come’s old doors sliding open. Sheepish, they settle back into the couch, avoiding the way Aria’s looking at them as if they’re an old, skittish drone.

“Who are we supporting?” Mako asks as he enters the room, which, if it were anyone but Mako, would be suspiciously timed enough to leave no doubt that he was eavesdropping. However, since it is Mako, and he doesn’t immediately follow it with extensive commentary on how talking behind his back is ‘like, so uncool, guys,’ it’s safe to say he’s being sincere.

“And if the answer is Ibex, I’m leaving right now. No more favors for that asshole,” Mako continues.

“He’s not that bad,” Aria defends. “You’re just…” She trails off as she turns to face him. “What is that?”

“Oh, this?” Mako looks down at the canister in his hand, then back at Aria.“Whip cream. Whipped cream? One of those. I found it while reorganizing the pantry _again.”_ He wrinkles his  nose. “I swear, Orth has it out for me. You insult his taste in anime, like, once, and that’s it. You’ve got every chore that’s ever existed staked on your plate for eternity.”

Maxine’s staring at him like he’s some unsolvable equation, while Aria looks concerned. Cass isn’t really sure what their face must look like, but it probably falls somewhere in the middle.

“Orth’s been giving you chores again?” Aria asks, confusion coloring her voice. “I thought he  said we could use a break.”

“I mean, he hasn’t really— Okay, so I just kind of assumed that the chores from the trip over to September were, like, standing things? And they might as well get done, so whatever.” Mako shrugs, then shakes the can of whipped cream.

“Anyhow, anyone else got a memory of some asshole at the institute daring Cass to enter a skinny dipping competition, and Aria decking him? Because, honestly, I treasure it.” He shakes his head in a slow, awed motion. “The sound of impact _—_ just wha- _pmm._ Mean left hook.”

Mako sprays whipped cream into his mouth, and the room is silent but for the sound of the aerosol. 

“What does a skinny dipping competition even look like?” Maxine asks, after a moment.

“Lots of exposed flesh, probably,” Cass answers, as dry as the Seabed.

“Well, yes,” Maxine concedes, “but what are they competing over?”

“It’s like a swim competition,” Mako says, having successfully swallowed the whip cream, “but nakeder.”

“Thanks,” Aria says, “for that image. Thank you.”

“You are so very welcome.” Mako pauses. “So, does that mean no one else remembers that? Like is that specific fake memory just a Mako-only thing?”

“No, I remember it. I was just trying very hard to repress it.” However, as with Cass’s actual, legitimate memories, they were having a rough time actually doing so. “Though…” They look over at Aria. “Thanks for punching a hypothetical asshole for me.”

“Hey, you were new, confused, and very, very awkward,” Aria says, shrugging. “Like our first day on the ship, but worse. It was the least I could hypothetically do.”

“I was not— I was never awkward,” Cass defends. “I was— You were—” They make a frustrated noise. “We were all bad at being criminals, okay?”

“Spefoyehsoof,” Mako says, around a mouth full of whipped cream. He swallows, then, more coherently, follows up with, “I was the best criminal, like immediately. Like, as soon as I was on Counterweight it was a free soda party, courtesy of every vending machine in a three mile radius.”

Maxine’s giving them all a look, and if not for her being squished between Cass and Aria, she’d probably be trying to create as much distance between them and her as possible. Understandable. Not a great turn of events, but understandable. Time to change the subject.

“Are you even okay right now?” Not that one. Fuck.

“Uh, yeah? I have whip cream,” Mako says, waggling the can at them.

Cass looks at Aria, trying to wordlessly communicate that they have no idea where to go from here. Aria returns it with a complex sequence of expressions that involve a lot of pointing with her lips and cocking her head in Mako’s direction, and if she thinks Cass caught any of whatever that means, then she is sorely mistaken.

Finally, Aria rolls her eyes and sighs, which, sorry! Cass isn’t a mind reader outside of very specific, ancient colossi related circumstances!

“What they mean to say, Mako, is that we’re all a little worried about you after… everything,” Aria says, which is a good start. Nice and vague.

“Oh, that?” Mako rolls his eyes. “Pft, that’s— that’s old news, right?”

It’s been four days.

Cass opens their mouth to say something that’s probably going to either be really insightful or the exact opposite, but Mako interrupts before they can say anything.

“Anyway, I should really get back to the whole pantry thing before Orth gets onto me, so I’ll chat with you cool cats later.” He snaps his fingers into guns, waggles them in a salute, then turns and leaves the room.

“That went well,” Aria says, after a beat of silence.

 

* * *

 

Looking for Mako is always a game of Hide and Seek set to Schrödinger’s difficulty. It isn’t as if he puts much effort into hiding, but he could be literally anywhere on the ship at any given time, so stumbling over him in the hallway is just as likely as finding him curled up in one of forty-odd nooks and crannies. Luckily, he’s bright blue, which makes the search a lot easier.

When Cass does eventually find him, Mako is curled up in a swivel chair in the passageway outside the cockpit, AuDy’s drone sitting in his lap.

“Hey,” he greets, not looking up from the drone. “Wait just— One sec, ‘kay?”

“Sure,” Cass agrees, the word coming out slow and measured, which is a really fun trick that their mouth must have picked up separately from the rest of their body.

The drone hums lethargically, a few of its legs articulating, then going limp. It chirps at Mako twice, then goes back to humming, deeper and deeper, until it’s inaudible.

Mako looks up. “I was just, uh, talking to it.” He ducks his head, humming the way he does when he’s sorting through his words. “It’s been kinda lonely, so I figured I’d cheer the poor little dude up.” He pats it, then grins at Cass, raising a finger to his mouth. “It’s sleeping. Now, I mean. I wasn’t talking to it while it was asleep; that’d— that’d be weird.”

“Well, you are acting a little strange lately.” Wow, that sure was a thing that was said. Right out of the gate. Excellent. Who let Cass handle this?

Cass let Cass handle this. Right.

“Not that it’s not understandable,” they amend. “I mean, you just found out that your life is kind of…” Nope, that’s the worst way to go about this. They’re backpedalling straight into a ditch.

Mako rolls his eyes. “Oh, Puh-lease. This again? That’s, like, last week’s news.”

What.

“It’s actually hilarious when you think about it, ‘cause like, wow, I’m supposed to be good at patterns and math here. Just goes to show that test scores don’t mean shit, especially if they’re handed out by evil schools that clone people.” Mako tucks one of his hands behind his head, continuing to cradle the drone in his lap with the other.

“Besides, I should have figured it out, considering it’s like...How much do you know about data storage?”

  
Cass can remember the day they tried to do research and somehow managed to install spyware on their phone like it was yesterday. “I know my way around a cloud,” they say.

  
Mako’s mouth quirks the way it does when he’s trying very hard to pretend that he’s not prepping for a shiteating grin, which means that a pun is incoming, and there’s nothing Cass can do about it. “Yeah, and he’s pretty awesome, too.”

Cass doesn’t respond; if they do, the conversation will definitely derail, and they have a feeling this is heading somewhere.

  
After a beat, Mako deflates, put off by the lack of response, and continues. “Okay, so there’s this ancient format for data storage where they compress files, and all the unnecessary parts are discarded. And you can tell when that format’s used and reused because it starts fucking with the content pretty bad, leaving artifacts in pictures and stuff. And well, that’s kind of how memories work. You’re remembering remembering the original content, y’know? But the mesh stuff always felt different. Like it was the artifacts that were actually important, if that makes sense.”

Cass considers the way the mesh memories are built up, based on the context of details built around an event, rather than the event itself. They remember talking about getting pizza with Maxine, the prep, discussions about it later, but nothing about the event itself.

“Yeah,” they admit, after a moment. The metaphor has lost them, for sure, but they think they still know what he means.  

“See? It’s obvious in, y’know, retrospect.” Mako blows a raspberry, leaning back. “Besides,” he continues, “if all my memories were real, the Golden War would have happened, like, way longer ago. Like, _twice_ as many years. That’s so many.” He shakes his head. “Really screwed that lightbulb, huh? Never even bothered to look up when the school was founded.”

Mako stares at the ceiling for a moment. “Or, I did, and the mesh just kinda…” He makes a waggly gesture with his free hand. “But hey, I never was that great at research. Breaking the ICE is more my speed.”

Cass stares at him. Something has to be said here, but they aren’t sure what because this isn’t… this isn’t right. And the words aren’t either.

“C’mon? Ice? That was a good one. Play with me here, Cass.”

But they still have to try to say something.

“Mako,” Cass starts, then sighs. “You know it’s okay to be upset, right?”

“Nah,” Mako says, which: what? “Sounds like a waste of time, so let’s just put that away. Focus on more important stuff, y’know? Like this little guy.” Mako shuffles the drone gently into the crook of his elbow, like the universe’s first octopedal football, and stands. “Anyway, great talk. Loved it. Let’s never discuss or think about it again.”

“Mako,” Cass calls, but he’s already slipping out the door.

Well. That could have gone better.

 

* * *

 

There’s got to be an upper limit to how many people can be staring into space in the dark on one ship, right? There’s not enough room for everyone to brood alone; they at least have to take shifts or something.

As it is, Cass takes it upon themself to reduce the load by keeping as many people company as they can. Which may not go appreciated in every case, but Cass doesn’t appreciate being kept off the brooding roster, so there. They’re the unofficial supervisor for everyone’s internalized emotional crises, and anyone who doesn’t like it can just suck it up.

Except Paisley, who may have lost all ability to feel emotion, much less have a crisis, and Jacqui, who could kill them. Wouldn’t, probably, because it’d make Aria sad, but like hell is Cass taking the chance.

There’s also the drone, who just kind of sits outside the cockpit most of the time; however, Cass isn’t really equipped to keep it company, so they leave that to Mako.

Still! They have an obligation to literally almost everyone else, and they take their work very seriously.

So, when Cass finds Aria taking her turn at staring, dead-eyed, out into space, her knees tucked underneath her chin, they take a deep breath and settle in beside her.

There’s a long while where they just sit in silence. It’s not so much awkward as it is unwieldy, heavy and overladen as Cass’s duffel bag during an extraction mission. There’s too much to say. To ask. Too many ways the words could come out wrong.

Eventually, though, the pressure reaches critical mass. “Is Paisley still…” Terrifyingly unresponsive? Blank and intent and absent? Any tactful synonym for the aforementioned?

“Yeah,” Aria says, and it’s jarring and weird to hear her voice crack because she’s Aria Joie, but, well, it may be rare, but it’s not the first time. “Yeah, Paisley’s still.” She sighs, then rests her forehead on her knees.

“You, uh…” Cass pats her on the back. It’s awkward. They aren’t good at this. “You made the best decision you could.”

Aria laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “And now everyone has to live with the consequences.” She sits up, shaking her head. “Shitty how that happens. One pebble, lots of ripples, or something.”

Almost on cue, there’s the sound of conversation outside the room. “I’m not interested,” Maxine’s voice says, tone flat and final.  

“I’m just sayin’, if we split the cheddar, y’feel, then we could have a real good thing on our hands. We could call ourselves, like, Strata Sphere or somethin’,” the other voice responds, and Cass grits their teeth at the sound. Fucking Lazer Ted.

Aria looks at them, lips quirked up into a fond expression. “Exhibit A,” she says.

Cass eyes the opening where the door doesn’t quite meet the wall. “I have the shot,” they say, and as much as they mean for it to come out as a joke, their targeting suite is all too quick to come to life.

“No, Cass,” Aria says, but there has to be some wistfulness there, probably. Aria has better taste than to actually enjoy having Lazer fucking Ted around.

As for Mako, well... it isn’t like anyone ever had any illusions regarding his bad taste. Cass had just figured it wouldn’t escalate past neon windbreakers, plastic skirts, and shirts made out of repurposed bowling alley carpets. Go figure. They should know not to underestimate him by now.

“It’s gonna be a long couple of months, isn’t it?” Cass asks.

Aria’s smile falters, and she turns back to the window, staring out into the void. “Yeah,” she says, quietly. “Yeah.” She shakes her head, then looks back at them. “But, hey,” she says, her voice warming, “at least we’re not alone.” She bumps her shoulder into Cass’s, and for a moment, it feels like nothing’s changed. That they’re just waiting for the next mission to come in, and this is just a short break.

So Cass nudges her back and allows themself to pretend that’s true.

 

* * *

 

Let it be known that Cass hates being right, and that Lazer Ted is probably some kind of undying, festering being of darkness that lurks in the hearts of men because there’s no other possible explanation for the way everything manages to go to shit the moment he opens his mouth.

It starts, as most disasters do, with less of a bang and more of a half-hearted attempt at charades.  

Mako holds up an invisible cup and mimes sipping from a straw with the exaggerated enthusiasm of a flautist’s premiere performance being played in reverse. Which, while typical of who Mako is as a person, doesn’t necessarily herald disaster.

Instead, it’s Lazer Ted’s confident cry of, “Fuck, those tapioca dudes. The balls. Shi— Boba!”

Mako’s expression immediately transitions from encouragement to dismay. _“Really,_ Ted? Wh— You _know_ that’s a bad texture for me.”

“Bullshit,” Ted says, interrupting Cass’s objection that Mako’s not supposed to talk. “I’ve known you longer than I’ve known my own soul, man, my own identity. You fuckin’ love those tapioca dudes.” He crosses his arms, confidence incarnate. “Lazer Ted has a shoulder you can cry on because Lazer Ted _cares_ , which means he remembers when his good friends are all upset cause the local tapioca source closed down.”

“Ted, that never happened,” Mako says, both his voice and arms raising as he talks. “I’ve never even _seen_ a boba place around September.”

Aria holds up her hands in a placating gesture from where she’s nestled next to Jacqui. “It’s not that big of a deal, guys. It’s not like we’re all going out for drinks at Consolation after this, so—”

“Nah man,” Lazer Ted interrupts, insistent. “This is straight up denying a friendship _tradition,_ and LT don’t play like that. Us two, the Lazer-Mako team, we just slid on down to the—”

“Reminisce with the Mako you actually know, then, because that one wasn’t me!” Mako snaps, then, without another word, barges out of the room.

Silence falls across the room as everyone processes how quickly things took a turn for the shitty.

Jacqui opens her mouth, then closes it. “I got a feeling that there’s a lot of shit going on there that’s pretty much none of my business, but I’m also pretty sure that someone—  that isn’t me—  has gotta poke at it,” she says, finally.

Lazer Ted shakes his head. “I ain’t gotta clue, man. He’s the one who’s being all weird.”

Jacqui stares him down, eyes as intent as if she were peering through a scope. “I hate you.”

Ted only laughs in response, which figures. “Yeah, man, I can dig it. That animosity-attraction thing can be foxy as hell.”

Cass takes a lap.

Aria probably won’t let Jacqui actually kill Lazer Ted, but Cass needs an alibi in case Orth wants to know why part of the ship exploded. Just in case.

Besides, _someone_ has to walk Mako through admitting that he actually has negative emotions, and Aria’s got her hands full enough already.

 

* * *

 

“I’m a dick,” Mako says. He doesn’t even wait for Cass to finish the searching process, so for all intents and purposes, it’s just his voice floating around a room: an admission of jackassery unattached to any physical form. Which, well, at least he’s talking. He could have just as easily stayed quiet and made Cass’s job a lot harder.

Eventually, Cass’s eyes single out the distinct form of a human curled up, knees to his chest, underneath a desk. “Ted didn’t deserve me blowing up at him like that. No one— This is my shit, and it needs to stay my shit, and I’m so fucking sorry. You guys shouldn’t have had to deal with that, and... I’m just really fucking sorry.”

Cass sighs, kneading the bridge of their nose, then drops their hand as soon as they realize that could be interpreted as disappointment. Mako does not need Cass to waltz in and brace for a ‘not angry, just disappointed’ talk because those are horrid. They’re awful. The conversational equivalent of vomiting in a colossi.

So, they sit down. Better to be on the same level in situations like this. “Although it is literally killing me to say this, I agree that Lazer Ted didn’t deserve to get his head bitten off in that specific interaction,” Cass admits. “However,” they tack on immediately, “you don’t have to apologize for…” They trail off, trying to think of the right words. “Okay, so, you’re our friend, so, of course we’re going to care about you being upset.”

They bite the inside of their cheek, thinking. “Besides, ‘dealing with it’ makes it sound like looking after you is a box on a to-do list or something. Like a chore. You’ve— You’ve taken actual bullets for us before. We’re not gonna  go,” Cass works to alter their voice for emphasis, “‘oh fuck, guess we have to go calm down Mako; what an imposition.’”

“No, I know that,” Mako responds, which, alright. “You’re not all dicks.”

Truly, the highest of compliments.

“It’s just, uh…” He trails off, rapping his knuckles on his thigh. “I’m the fix-it guy, y’know? It’s my job to stay on top of things and keep everyone’s spirit up, and I really fucked that up with yelling at LT, and I’m gonna have to fix that too, and just, uh…” He laughs. “The maintenance drone thing, right? Like, that’s me. That’s my job. And if I’m not on top of that, then I just feel like, uh, shit, is the thing. I feel like shit.”

He sucks in his lip. “So! Uh, I have to be okay because if I’m not, then I’m pretty awful at my job, and so I feel even worse, so it’s better to just… Not. You feel me?”

Cass stares at him for a long moment, then releases a slow breath. “Everyone on this ship is so fucked up.”

Mako laughs, but it cracks. “You’re one to talk,” he says, but doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t mention Sokrates, or the demarchy. Doesn’t mention the funeral, or Koda, or the Apokine.   

“That’s fair,” Cass admits because, fine, whatever, it’s true, but they refuse to let Mako deflect his way into working through Cass’s problems instead of his own. “But I’m—” Not the one so insistent on pushing his feelings down that he’s hiding under a desk, they almost say, then realize that would be a really shitty thing to let slip. “Working through that with Aria,” they lie.

“Because it’s healthy to rely on your friends from time to time,” which is the truth, but also Aria has so much shit on her plate that they wouldn’t dream of adding their own problems on top. Is Cass a hypocrite? Maybe so. But they’re a _strategic_ hypocrite, and they’re going to support their friends if it kills them.

“Besides, this isn’t Cass-crisis hour. It’s…” They gesture vaguely at Mako. “So, let’s regroup.”

“Or we can, like, not,” Mako says, voice muffled because he has, once again, buried his face in his legs.

“Anyway,” Cass continues, “I know stuff can be difficult to get out of your system. Like… obligation, and duty, and everything. It’s tough. But, if it helps at all, we’re not expecting you to be at one hundred percent all the time. That’s just… that’s just impossible.”

Mako looks at them, eyes slits over his folded arms, and snorts. “Hey, pot, kettle here’s got a message for you.”

And, well, that isn’t unfair. Which leaves Cass with a limited arsenal. Unless they’re willing to suffer a strategic loss.

Sometimes Cass really fucking hates being such a good strategist.

“I know,” they admit, “and I also know you’re not a huge fan of that. On my end, I mean. Or anyone’s end. Your own end, maybe, which is the issue here. So, how about we cut a deal?”

Mako leans forward in a way that communicates he’s onto them, but isn't quite sure what the gameplan is quite yet. “What kind of deal?”

“We both cut it out,” Cass suggests. “The whole martyr thing. Or at least try, anyway.”

Mako scrunches up his face. “So, if I agree to, what, open up more often, then you will too?”

“I was thinking more ‘letting yourself be upset’, or even ‘going easier on yourself with the whole expectations thing’, but baby steps, I guess,” Cass answers.

There’s a beat of silence that lasts for a small eternity before Mako sighs. “You drive a hard bargain, you know that? You former diplomat, you.” He rolls his eyes, but juts out his hand all the same. “Alright. As long as you cut out the ‘martyr shit’, I will too.”

“I didn't say shit,” Cass defends. It _is_ shit, but still. They didn't say it.

In response, Mako just waves his extended hand pointedly.

It's Cass’s turn to roll their eyes, but they shake his hand nonetheless. “There. It's a promise.”

“No takebacks,” Mako insists. “I want maximum bang for my buck in the form of some grade-A former prospective fish monarch self-love. Got it?”

Cass is regretting every decision that ever led to this point. “Yeah, I got it. No takebacks.”

And who knows. Maybe they really will be able to keep it, or try their best to, anyway. After everything that’s happened so far, they can at least hope for that much, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Dramatic irony is code for “I'm actively dying and lying on the ground; don't look at me because I will just start wailing”
> 
> Anyway thanks Maddie for dragging me into counterweight hell it's pretty neat down here
> 
> Edit: Maddie drew [TWO VERY GOOD PALS from a scene in the fic and I'm dying. it's so good. look at it. ](https://twitter.com/drowzydruzy/status/906402390798163968)


End file.
